God bless the King, I mean the faith's defender,

                 God bless (no harm in blessing) the Pretender,

                 But who pretender is, or who is king,

                 God bless us all-- that's quite another thing.

                           - John Byrom, "Extempore to an Officer in the Army"



     "Perhaps," Galen said when he and Victoria returned to the

sitting-room, "we should start all over again from the beginning."

     Victoria could only give a stunned nod.

     Galen extended his hand.  "Hello, Victoria, I'm the Doctor."

     A heavy silence hung between them for a moment.  She didn't reach

for his hand, but managed to say, "But-- how...?"

     "Surely you must remember...!" he began, then stopped and rubbed his

chin.  "Hmm, but I guess you don't, do you?  The memory's getting fuzzy

in my old age.  You see, my dear, it's all a matter of regeneration, a

renewal of sorts all Time Lords-- my people-- go through.  Didn't Jamie

ever mention Ben and Polly's story about the Cybermen?  About how the

Doctor changed?"

     Now that she thought about it, Victoria did recall Jamie telling her

that the Doctor used to be an old man with shocking white hair who had

changed into the Doctor she knew, or so these two people said, but she

never quite believed him.  And why should she believe this stranger now?

He could be an enemy of the Doctor who captured the TARDIS.  She was

recovering from her shock now and felt suddenly bold.  "If you're the

Doctor, then--"

     "-- tell you something only the Doctor would know?  It's always the

same, isn't it?"  He paused and inhaled deeply.  "Remember on Telos?

When we talked about your father?  'The memory won't always be a sad

one,' I told you.  'We're doing something that no one else in the

universe can do.'"  He paused and looked past her as he remembered.

"That was over a thousand years ago for me, but I still count that talk

with you among my most treasured memories."

     "A thousand years?!" Victoria exclaimed.

     "Yes, well, give or take a century or two."

     "But that would make you more than fifteen hundred years old!"

     Galen-- the Doctor-- smiled.  "Ah, so you accept that I'm the

Doctor, then?"  He poured out the tea into two china cups and handed one

to her.

     Victoria smiled back.  "I think so.  But a thousand years?"

     "Luck, mostly.  Not many Time Lords make it to my age.  Your Doctor

is the second, and I am the thirteenth.  And the last," he added grimly.

     She decided not to inquire about this obviously painful comment, and

tried to change the subject.  "You've made some changes to the TARDIS,"

she said, gesturing around her.

     "Just a bit of architectural reconfiguration.  I've become rather

nostalgic lately.  And I finally have the chameleon circuit working--

sometimes."  He looked at her over his teacup.  "I've been trying to take

it easy lately, seeing old friends, visiting places again.  That's why I

came to the opening ceremonies.  I only got involved in all this by

accident."

     A thought occurred to her.  "If you're the Doctor, shouldn't you

remember this?"

     The Doctor-- she was beginning to see more and more of the Doctor in

him-- smiled again.  "I was wondering how long it would take you to ask

that.  It would make sense, wouldn't it?  But the thing is, I don't

remember this at all.  Don't ask me why not-- something to do with the

Blinovitch Limitation Effect, I suspect, but it's never been looked into

by the Time Lords, probably because I'm the only one it ever seems to

happen to."

     "The Doctor-- my Doctor-- must be all right, though, if you're here

now..."

     "I'm not sure if time works that way either.  But my younger self is

alive.  I can feel his presence.  Finding him can wait until tomorrow,

though, since London can be a dangerous place at night in any era."  He

finished his tea and put down the cup with a clatter.  "It's been a long

day and you're probably exhausted, so don't let me keep you up."  He

pointed to the interior door.  "Everything's more or less where it used

to be-- bath, wardrobe, even your old room.  Excuse the mess, though.  My

last companion tended to accumulate a lot of mementos which she ended up

leaving behind anyway."

     Victoria had spent the past hour trying not to yawn so that her host

wouldn't be offended.  So many questions still ran through her mind, but

she figured that they could wait until morning.  She stood, and the

Doctor politely stood as well.  "Thank you," she said, "for being here."

     "My pleasure," he replied, bowing his head.  "Good night, Victoria."

     She gave him a brief, impulsive hug before heading down the oak

hallway to the rest of the TARDIS.  Within a half hour she was under the

familiar covers of the four-poster bed, drifting off to sleep.

     On the edge of her consciousness, over the hum of the ship, she

heard the melancholy music of a violin.

        *****

     Jamie sat stunned.  His intuition had to be wrong!  How could the

Prince, his former leader, be in the next cell?  It was impossible!

     Then again, he reasoned, it was impossible for himself to be there.

And the bearded face of his attacker, with its familiar lines and

piercing eyes, hung before him in his mind.  Still, he was determined not

to believe without proof, just as the Doctor had taught him.

     "Jamie!" the voice whispered again.

     He got up quietly and went to the corner of the room where the voice

seemed to be coming from.  After some searching in the dark with his

hands he found a three-inch hole near the floor.  He bent down and

whispered, "Who's there?"

     "Jamie boy, didn't you recognize me before, at the police station?"

The voice suddenly sounded more earnest.  "I felt sure you'd know me!"

     "Aye, I I think I know ye, but do I?  If ye are who I think ye are,

you canna be here."

     "But neither can you be here, James Robert McCrimmon," the voice

shot back, "yet you are."  He sighed.  "What proof do you need?  At

Culloden you were piper of the McLaren clan, one of my most trusted

Highland chiefs.  As the battle turned against us, I trusted my personal

standard with Colin McLaren."

     "And the ring?"

     "The ring?  Aye, that went with McLaren too, though he lost it

somehow getting out of Scotland and over to France.  But what of you?

How do I know you're James Robert McCrimmon after all?"

     Jamie was silent for a moment.  All the stranger had said was true!

He felt excitement coursing through his veins, and the pride of Culloden

filled his mind.  He began to sing one of the songs he'd played on the

battlefield:



                 "O, hi ri ri, he is coming,

                  O, hi ri ri, our exiled King,

                  Let us take our arms and clothing,

                    And the flowing tartan plaid.



                  Joyful I am, he is coming,

                   Son of our rightful exiled King,

                  A mighty form which becomes armour,

                   The broad-sword and the bossy shield..."



     He stopped when he hear the Prince laughing, a hearty laugh he knew

well.

     "Ah, those were the days, Jamie lad!" he exclaimed.  "We should have

won that battle, instead of fighting it again in this godforsaken year.

But this time things are better-planned, and we have mechanisms from the

future on our side.  It's a good thing you're here, to help with our

victory!"

     Suddenly Jamie heard someone approach their cells.  "Stop your

yappin' in there!" a guard shouted.  And then, barely audible, came the

click of a key.

     "We're escaping, Jamie boy," the Prince whispered.  "Are you with us?"

     "O' course, my lord!" Jamie replied without hesitation.  "I'm wi' ye

to the end!"

        *****

     Victoria and Galen-- the Doctor, she reminded herself-- were having

breakfast before sunrise.  The Doctor had insisted on making a proper

English breakfast himself instead of relying on the TARDIS food machine,

and the bacon, eggs, and mash tasted all the better for it.

     They sat at a makeshift table in the sitting-room, the Doctor

reading the morning papers and jumping from topic to topic in his

discussion with Victoria.  Suddenly he stopped and looked up, pensive.

     "What's the matter?" Victoria asked, concerned.

     "Scratching," he replied simply.  "I don't think the TARDIS has

mice..."  He put down his silverware and headed into the console room.

Victoria followed.

     The Doctor activated the scanner, and the flaps parted to show a

dirty brick wall.  With a few adjustments to the controls, the image

focused on the door and a scruffy-looking figure hunched over the lock.

     "He'll find that lock hard to pick," the Doctor said with a laugh.

"Perhaps we should give him some help, eh?"

     Victoria saw in him the same glint that her Doctor got when he had a

plan of some kind, so she readied herself for action as they returned to

the sitting-room.

     "Lights!" the Doctor said, and the gas-jets went out abruptly.

     At first the room was pitch-black, but her eyes adjusted quickly to

the very faint light which still emanated from somewhere.  She could see

the Doctor standing to one side of the door, pressed against the wall.

He reached up to grasp one of the large objects on the mantelpiece.

     "Get him in here when I open the door," he told her.  He must have

seen a touch of fear in her eyes, because he added, "I won't let him hurt

you, I promise."

     He tilted the object, and the door slowly opened by itself.  The

unkempt man straightened up with a surprised look.  In the early dawn she

could make out his dirty face, long scraggly beard, and dim-witted,

gap-toothed smile.  The strong smell of alcohol drifted from him through

the morning air.

     "I was a-lookin' for some food if you could spare it, miss," he said

quietly.

     She felt a sudden impulse to slam the door, but before she could

react the beggar produced a small metal cylinder from beneath his

threadbare coat.   The way he held it pointed at her obviously made it

some kind of weapon.  His expression was one of keen intelligence as he

backed her inside the room.

     "All right, just a few questions, please--"

     The Doctor jumped from his hiding place and tackled the intruder

around the legs, knocking him to the floor.  The weapon went clattering

across the room, and Victoria scrambled to pick it up.

     She aimed the weapon unsteadily.  "I'm not sure how this works, but

don't make me have to find out!"

     The intruder stopped struggling.  He watched from a sprawled

position as the Doctor got up and dusted himself off.

     "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing," the Doctor muttered.

He took the weapon and studied it intently as he continued to aim it at

the vagrant.  "Hmm, a most curious design, wouldn't you say, Victoria?"

     "Doctor!"  She gestured warily at the intruder.

     "Yes, of course, you can get off the floor now if you like, sir.

Help yourself to a chair, but be assured that I do know how this works.

Do we understand each other?"

     The intruder only nodded and sat where the Doctor indicated.

     "Come now, you'll need to be more talkative than that!" the Doctor

exclaimed.  "Who you are might be a good start."

     "Inspector Joseph Lanthorne, Scotland Yard."

     "Name, rank, and serial number," the Doctor quipped.  "You could at

least give a probable explanation, one which would account for this."  He

waved the weapon.

     "What is that thing?" Victoria asked.  She had seated herself behind

the Doctor and watched the intruder nervously.

     "Atmospheric-electric inducer.  Nasty things-- like being hit by a

small bolt of lightning."

     "I wasn't planning to use it!" the intruder protested.

     "The question," the Doctor continued, "is how he got such a weapon

in the first place."

     The intruder brought his leg across his knee and reached for his

shoe.  The Doctor tensed.  After some manipulating, the shoe's heel

flipped open.  The man took out a small card and handed it to the Doctor.

     Victoria peered over the Doctor's shoulder at the card.  It showed a

three-dimensional picture of the man in front of them, and underneath the

picture was the name Joseph Lanthorne.  In the center of the card was a

stylized drawing of an antique clock surrounded by odd-shaped characters

she didn't recognize.  The card's meaning escaped her, but she could tell

the Doctor seemed to know.  He lowered the weapon and studied the man

intently.

     "Why didn't you just say so?" he asked.

     "I wasn't sure you could be trusted," Lanthorne replied.

     "And you know now?"

     "Call it an instinct," Lanthorne said.  "As far as I can tell, you

and--"  He gestured.

     "Victoria Waterfield," she supplied, feeling confused.

     "--you and Miss Waterfield here are working for the right side in

this matter."

     "Because you've been following me," the Doctor said.  "I realized it

when I recognized you at the bar in the Horse and Wheel.  You're the same

vagrant who bumped into me at the Crystal Palace."

     Victoria decided to interrupt, or she might never know what these

two were talking about.  "Doctor, who is this man?  And what of this

card?"  She took it from the Doctor's hand and studied it more closely.

     "Well, our friend here is an agent of the Trans-Temporal Police.

They're from the far future, when humans finally discover time travel,

and are supposed to keep people from meddling with history.  I don't

think I've ever worked with one of their agents before, or perhaps I have

and didn't realize it.  In any case, his presence here puts a whole new

slant on things."

     "You're from the future, then?" she asked Lanthorne.

     "Gracious, no!  Born and raised in this era, recruited from the

future.  And I really am a Scotland Yard inspector, a position which lets

me keep and eye out for time criminals."  He turned to the Doctor.  "Now,

did she call you 'Doctor'?  The records are full of references to a

mysterious Doctor, but the Police tend to consider him a legend or myth

of some kind, like the Time Lords."

     "I can assure you the Time Lords are no myth," the Doctor replied

with a laugh.  "Nor am I.  I just tend to make rapid exits.  Can't stand

all the questions about where I come from."  He took Lanthorne's card

from Victoria and gave it back to its owner.  "Well, since we have all

the introductions out of the way, perhaps you can shed some light on this

whole mess.  You're here about the assassination attempt?"

     "Yes."

     "Time meddlers, I'm presuming."

     "Well, in a sense," Lanthorne said.  "One of our temporal

researchers was studying French court life of the mid-eighteenth century

when he broke the rules and revealed his time machine to a group of

exiled English nobles.  He wanted power, you see, and promised these

nobles to give them back their positions in England in exchange for that

power.  Instead, the nobles overpowered him and took his machine--

research vehicles are not that difficult to handle, you see."

     "And now they've come here," Victoria said.  "So who are these nobles?"

     "The Old Pretender and Bonnie Prince Charlie," Lanthorne replied,

and Victoria gasped.

     "'Thus the whirligig of time begins in his revenges,'" the Doctor

quoted.  "And we've been caught in the middle of it.  I wish I'd known

sooner!"

     "There was little any of us could have done.  They now have weapons

from the future with which to fight.  I've been watching them as well,

waiting for the right time to spring, but you were an unexpected factor."

     "You were at the house that night as well!"  The Doctor seemed

astonished and impressed.

     Lanthorne only smiled, then continued.  "The two men at the opening

ceremonies were unexpected factors as well.  I have the Police uptime

trying to discover who they are--"

     "They're friends of ours," Victoria said.  "Jamie and the Doctor."

     Lanthorne stared suspiciously at the red-haired young man in front

of him.  "I thought you said you were the Doctor."

    "I am," the Doctor said.  "I suppose the legends of the Time Lords

don't mention regeneration?  Rather a confusing topic, I agree.  Still,

the older man with the dark hair is an earlier version of me.

Fortunately one mellows with age."  He suddenly became serious.  "Where

is he now, do you know?  Is he all right?"

     "He's being cared for at Bart's.  He's not been awake since that

fall he took yesterday."

     Victoria was about to ask where Jamie was, but the Doctor jumped

from his chair.  "We must see him!" he exclaimed.  "I just hope we're not

too late!"

        *****

     Even at that early hour, the streets of London were crowded with

people of all sorts bustling here and there, many going to the Exhibition

and others headed to work.  Vehicles lined the roadways, creeping along

at a snail's pace due to the traffic.  Everyone, however, seemed in good

humor after the Exhibition's proud opening the day before.

     Jamie felt a bit overwhelmed by it all, sitting in a dim alleyway

next to the bearded Prince.  Their "escape" from Pentonville had been too

easy to be unplanned.  A guard had come and unlocked their cells, and

they had crept down a dark back passage which led to another unlocked

door.  Within a half hour they were outside, heading away from the prison

in the early light of dawn.

     Their stop now was merely a rest after being on the move for hours.

The Prince had remained silent through most of the time.  He appeared to

be brooding, as Jamie had seen him brood in Laird McLaren's house the

night before Culloden.

     The thought of the Laird brought to Jamie's mind something which

might break the silence.  He reached around his neck and took off the

leather thong which held the seal-ring.  "You might be needin' this," he

said, handing the ring to the Prince.

     The Prince took it, studying it in the half-light.  He smiled.

"Jamie boy, I've missed this!"  He pulled the thong away and put the ring

on his finger.  "Aye, 'tis a dandy gift, lad, so close to victory!"

     "If I can be bold, what is the plan?"

     "A good question, Jamie boy.  We have to do what we tried to do

yesterday at the Exhibition-- assassinate the Queen."

     "Kill the Queen?!" Jamie exclaimed.

     The Prince looked at him, surprised.  "Something wrong wi' that,

lad?"  When Jamie remained silent, he added, "This is no different from

Culloden, Jamie.  An usurper is on the throne, and we have to set things

right."

     Jamie opened his mouth to respond, but stopped short at the Prince's

fierce gaze.  The Prince jumped up and pointed to a clock shop across the

street.  "We're running late, lad!  Come on!"

     The Highlander followed his Prince, as he had that fateful day of

Culloden.  In his mind's eye he remembered the bloody battle, and his vow

to fight the English until his dying day.  Then he remembered Victoria

joyously shouting, "God save the Queen!" and he shivered.

        *****

     St. Bartholomew's Hospital, popularly known as Bart's, sat near the

middle of the City, center of London's business district.  The imposing

marble building made Victoria glad she had never needed to go there, or

any hospital, when she was growing up.  After traveling in the TARDIS,

nineteenth-century medicine unnerved her even more.

     Because the Doctor had spent most of their cab ride explaining to

Lanthorne the concepts of telebiogenesis and regeneration, she was almost

glad to arrive at the hospital.  She was also glad that Lanthorne had

changed out of his beggar's clothes and clean himself up before coming.

The inspector looked very presentable, washed and dressed in clothes from

the TARDIS wardrobe.

      "A bit out of the way," the Doctor commented once they had got out

of the carriage and paid the fare.  "I mean, why not send me-- er, him--

to St. George's, which is much closer to Hyde Park?"

     "Perhaps Stevenson wanted him away from the Exhibition," Lanthorne

said.  "Less of a chance of his comrades finding him?"

      "Just as Jamie was sent to Pentonville instead of Newgate."  The

Doctor pondered this for a moment.

     "Doctor?"  When he didn't look over at her, Victoria stepped in

front of him.  "Doctor, shouldn't we worry about Jamie?"

     "Ah, no, not particularly," he replied.  "Jamie's rather used to

prisons, and Pentonville isn't so bad as long as you don't stay there too

long.  As I said when we first met, the best way to get him out of their

is to show his innocence, and that's still our objective."  He began

walking up the stairs to the entrance.  "Come on, then, once more unto

the breach!"

     Lanthorne took her arm and led her after him.  "I almost think he's

enjoying this," the inspector muttered.

     The inside of the hospital proved to be a contrast to the outside.

The hallways were small and dimly lit with gas-jet lamps.  Occasional

noises could be heard from the different rooms as they passed on their

search.  While it wasn't exactly sterile, Victoria thought, at least it

was clean and orderly.

     The staff proved little help.  Either they didn't know where the

Doctor's room was, or they were simply unfriendly, passing them without

acknowledging their questions.  Finally an elderly nurse pointed them

around a corner.

     "Best be careful," she added before shuffling away down the corridor.

     "I wonder what she meant by that," Victoria said when the nurse had

gone.

     Lanthorne lead the way around the corner.  They could easily see

which room the nurse had meant.  "Two constables," Lanthorne said.  "A

sensible security measure."

     The Doctor looked worried.  "Hmm, I wonder..."

     They followed the inspector to where the constables stood.  "Good

morning, I am Inspector Lanthorne and I'd like to see the man in here,

please."

     "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that."  The dark-haired constable

sounded nervous.

     "Can't do that?!" Lanthorne exclaimed.  "Did I hear you correctly,

constable?"

     "Yes, sir," the other constable said.  "But we're under orders that

no one but Inspector Stevenson can enter this room."

     Lanthorne jabbed angrily at the constables.  "Let me through or I'll

have your jobs, if not your hides!"

      The constables looked at each other, then stepped aside.  They

glared at Lanthorne as he opened the door and motioned the other two

ahead of him.

     "The impudence of the man!" Lanthorne muttered as he slammed the

door behind them.

     The Doctor and Victoria already stood at the older-looking younger

Doctor's bedside.  Victoria stared down in deep concern.  He looked older

than she had ever seen him, drawn and gaunt.  His hair was partly covered

by a large bandage on the left side.

     "So that man is you?" Lanthorne asked, joining them.

     "He was me, many years ago.  But if he regenerates now, I could

cease to exist."  He intently studied his younger self's well-lined

face.  "I must see what's going on."

     "How do you propose to do that, Doctor?" the inspector asked.

     "Mind-link.  It's the only way."  He moved around to put his fingers

on each of the younger Doctor's temples.  "I don't know how long I'll be,

but don't break the link, whatever you do."

     Victoria and Lanthorne watched as the red-haired Doctor closed his

eyes and his entire body stiffened.

        *****

     Darkness surrounded him, palpable as fog.  He tried to see his

hands, his feet, some part of his body to convince himself he was real,

but he could see nothing.

     He walked, or at least he thought he walked.  With no landmarks he

couldn't tell how far he walked, but it seemed like hours, days, weeks of

searching the void for some kind of life.  He found none.

     He began to get discouraged.  If this was the mind of his younger

self, was that self dead?  If so, was he dead?  He started to wonder

whether this void was an afterlife of some kind, more lonely and less

real than the Matrix.

     Finally, when he wondered if all hope was lost, he heard a sound.

     He strained to hear the sound at first, tried to follow it to its

source.  The sound felt familiar, and yet distant in his memory.

     At last he saw a black shape seated cross-legged and hunched over.

The sound was clear now as the music of a recorder.

     As he approached, the music stopped.  "I was wondering when you'd

get here," said a familiar voice.  The figure jumped to his feet and

turned around to face him.  The eldest Doctor found himself facing his

younger self.

     "Hello, old chap," the younger Doctor said with a wide grin.  Then

he peered closely at his red-haired counterpart.  "Although I must admit

I was expecting that cricketer with the blond hair, but it's good to see

you all the same."  He reached out and shook the other Doctor's hand

vigorously.

     "You seem to be doing well."

     "Ah, yes, mentally," the younger Doctor replied.  "Physically is a

different matter altogether.  I took quite a knock on the head when I

fell from that machine."

     "You really shouldn't have gone up there at all," the red-haired

Doctor admonished him.  "You were never a man of action."

     "True, very true, but hindsight is always best, isn't it?"  Then the

Doctor looked at his older self seriously.  "How are Jamie and Victoria?

Are they all right?"

     "I think I should fill you in on what's been going on."

     "I was about to suggest it," the younger Doctor replied.  He closed

his eyes tightly.  "Contact."

     The eldest Doctor closed his eyes as well.  "Con--"

        *****

     Rough hands held him from behind by the shoulders, pulling him

back.  He saw and heard through a distorted haze.  Light bombarded his

senses from all sides, and he felt his legs drop from beneath him.  He

fell, catching himself with his hands on the hard floor.

     "No!  You'll kill him!" Victoria screamed.  He looked up to see a

tall man pinning her arms behind her.  Near her another man with long

sideburns held a gun trained on Lanthorne's head.

     "Stevenson, have you gone mad?" Lanthorne demanded.

     "No, my dear Lanthorne," replied the man with the gun, "I'm just

beginning to see sanity.  Come on, let's go!"

     The third man roughly picked him up again and pushed him through the

door.  He didn't have the strength to fight back.

        *****

     Stevenson and his men forced the trio outside and into a waiting

carriage.  Victoria and Lanthorne supported the red-haired Doctor as best

they could.  The shades of the carriage were drawn, and the only light

came from a small hole in the carriage's roof.  Victoria wondered whether

this precaution was more to keep the prisoners from looking out or to

keep others from looking in.  Throughout the ride, Stevenson and one of

the other men had guns aiming at them.

     "Why, Stevenson?" Lanthorne asked.  "Why sell yourself out to this

traitorous lot?"

     Stevenson looked at him angrily.  "You really can't figure that out

for yourself?  The great Lanthorne?  I'll tell you why!  As an inspector,

a bloody Peeler, for God's sake, where do I have any hope of getting

anywhere?"  He shook the gun at Lanthorne.  "Now you shut up!  Don't know

why I'm telling you anyway..."

     Victoria spent most of the time mopping the semi-conscious Doctor's

brow with her kerchief and speaking soothing words into his ear.  She

felt incredibly concerned for him as she watched his eyes move rapidly

behind closed eyelids.

     Finally the carriage stopped, and they were hustled out.  The

dilapidated houses and the terrible odors told her they were far from the

fashionable parts of London.  She took hold of one of the Doctor's arms

as Lanthorne helped him walk.

     Stevenson led them in through the front door, and left them with his

man for several minutes in the entryway when he disappeared into the

darkened house.

     "The boss isn't here," Stevenson said when he returned.  "Put 'em

down in the basement."

     The basement proved to be brighter than the carriage, with small

windows near the ceiling, but that was little consolation.  The place

smelled of dampness, and rodents scampered from behind the numerous

cluttered piles strewn around the room.

     The Doctor sat for some time against one wall, his knees pulled up

and his head down.  Victoria and Lanthorne watched him nervously.

Finally he looked up at them with a weak smile.  "Don't look so

concerned.  The shock of breaking the link, you see.  I'll be all right

in a few minutes."  He got up unsteadily and started looking around.

"Are we where I think we are?" he asked.

     "Their headquarters, yes," Lanthorne said.  "You might say we've

come full circle."

     "An apt description, although not an entirely encouraging one."  He

picked up a rusted set of handlebars.  "Seems like we have the luxury

suite as well.  First thing I usually do in these situations is see what

I have to work with."

     "A good plan," Lanthorne agreed, and he began to look through a

nearby pile of junk.

     Victoria went to the other side of the room, where a large black

shape attracted her attention.  She found the shape to be something

covered by a large sheet.  She pulled the sheet back carefully, then

gasped.  "Doctor, Inspector, look at this!"

     They came over to her, and stared at what she found.  Victoria

thought of a small automobile she had seen during her travels.  The craft

could hold three or four people easily, but sat on a pair of skids

instead of wheels.  The darkened windows prevented them from seeing

inside, but the stylized antique clock painted on the slanted hood left

her little doubt about what this craft was.

     "Can we get inside?" the Doctor asked Lanthorne eagerly.  He

appeared almost recovered from his ordeal.

     The inspector began looking through his coat pockets.  "I believe I

have a master ident card for just such an occasion--"

     "You put them where?!" a voice shouted from upstairs.  "You imbecile!"

     "Where else could we put them?" demanded another voice.

     They froze when they heard hurried footsteps approach the basement door.

     "Quick, cover the machine!" Lanthorne hissed.

     They covered the time vehicle and rushed back to their places as the

basement door opened on its creaking hinges.  A tall, imposing figure

stood silhouetted in the frame.

     "So," the figure said, "you are the ones who are ruining my plans.

Let me assure you that your efforts are in vain!"

     As he stepped into the light, several men with guns followed him

down the stairs.  Victoria noted the man's graying hair and high

forehead.  He carried himself with an aristocratic air.  His face was

marked with wrinkles, however, but the bags beneath his tired eyes did

not dampen his menacing stare.

     "James Stuart, I presume?" the Doctor asked.

      "You presume correct, sir."  The Old Pretender's face never lost

its sternness.

     "James Stuart," Lanthorne said, pulling out his ID card, "as a

member of the Trans-Temporal Police, I arrest you for attempting to

tamper with the course of history!"

     The Doctor waved the inspector back with his hand, but it was too

late.  The Old Pretender laughed loudly.  "You are hardly in a position

to arrest me, Inspector."  He indicated his gunmen.  "And if our plans

are a success, I will no longer need to fear the Trans-Temporal Police."

     "Meddling with time is not a game for amateurs, your highness," the

Doctor said, stepping forward.  "You can never sure what the consequences

will be."

     The Pretender snorted.  "I care not for 'consequences,' sir.  I care

for results!"

     "You want to regain your throne-- perfectly understandable," said

the Doctor sympathetically.  "But history gave you your chance with the

Fifteen and the Forty-Five.  This era is not yours."

     "Those petty rebellions?  Those were nothing compared to what we can

do now!  You have seen the conditions under which these people live.  The

hungry masses will embrace us.  They will be our army!"  He faltered for

a moment, and his gaze lowered away from the Doctor's eyes.  "They must

embrace us."

     Victoria's brow furrowed.  There was something familiar in the Old

Pretender's grey hair and faltering manner.  She was reminded of her

grandfather just weeks before his death.

     The Doctor's tone became soothing.  "You don't have to go through

with whatever your planning.  Surrender now and you can be returned

safely to your own era.  The French--"

     The fierceness in the Pretender's eyes returned.  "No," he growled.

"This is the last battlefield.  It must be."  He looked away again.  "I

can fight no longer."  Then he pulled a pocketwatch from his waistcoat

and glanced at it.  He looked up with renewed vigor.  "The time is almost

at hand.  There will need to be some revision in the plan, however."  He

pointed to the Doctor.  "You with the red hair, step forward!"

     The Doctor looked ready to make some flippant refusal, but the men

behind the Pretender raised their guns.  He approached.  "Yes?"

     The Pretender stepped to the corner of the room, where a second

shape stood under a sheet.  When he removed the covering, Victoria

thought it looked like a seven-foot man.  As she studied the dark figure,

she saw it was a futuristic suit of metallic armor.  The visored helmet

looked like a mirror, and was the only part of the suit which reflected

the light.  A large gun was mounted on the right arm.

     "I trust you are from the future as well?" the Pretender asked.

     "In a manner of speaking," the Doctor replied.  "I have done a lot

of traveling."

     "Then you will know how to operate this machine?"

     "You want me to get into that?"  The Doctor looked defiant.  "And

what if I don't want to?"

     "I must remind you that not only your life hangs in the balance, but

that of your friends, as well as the House of Commons."

     "The House of Commons?!" Victoria and Lanthorne exclaimed.

     "A bomb in the Stranger's Gallery is set to detonate at the push of

a machine upstairs.  I can monitor the working of this armor from there

as well.  Unless you do as I command, sir, I fall back on my secondary

plan.  I had hoped to govern this country from the proper seat of power,

but if necessary, sir, I will destroy the entire Parliament."

      "How do we know you're not lying?" Victoria snapped.

     He turned to her.  His gaze was so cold she shivered.  "I can assure

you I am telling the truth."

        *****

     Jamie had followed the Prince for hours now.  The Prince seemed to

be walking aimlessly, ducking into shops and alleyways at random.

Finally Jamie could take no more of it.  "What are we doin'?" he asked.

"Do you actually have some kind of plan, or are you just makin' it up as

you go along?"

     The Prince glared at him.  "Don't you trust me, lad?"

     Jamie floundered.  "O' course!" he said quickly.  Convincingly, he

hoped.  "I was just wonderin'--"

     "If I got captured, the plan was for me to head Buckingham Palace

and wait for a sign."

     "What sort of sign?"

     The Prince eyes lit up and he pointed to a trail of white smoke in

the sky.  "There's your sign, Jamie boy!  We've got to hurry!"

        *****

     In his hospital bed, the dark-haired Doctor stirred.  He opened one

eye and looked around.  Finding the room to be empty, he sat up

straight.  He examined the bandage on his head, then paused to consider.

No sign of his other self.  Why had the connection had been broken?

Where could he have gone?  Best to be careful until he found things out.

     His clothes were draped over a nearby chair.  He crept out of bed

and put them on silently.  After a quick check of the contents of his

pockets, he went to the door and listened.  He heard two distinct voices

conversing in quiet tones.

     Two against one.  He needed something to even the odds a bit.  He

looked through his pockets again, and found a cylindrical device with an

attachment at the top.  "Just what I need!" he muttered.  "And Victoria

says I shouldn't clutter my pockets!"  He played with the settings, then

crossed his fingers and opened the door.

     "I say, any chance of room service in here?" he asked.

     The guards turned to him in surprise as he held up the device.  A

loud, high-pitched squeal made the guards clutch at their ears in pain.

The Doctor kept it trained on them as he backed down the corridor.  When

he thought he was far enough away, he turned and ran.  The guards

stumbled to their feet and charged after him.

     Out on the street, he paused to look at the device appraisingly.  A

sonic screwdriver, said the label.  Something with a lot of potential.

He pocketed it, then walked quickly down the street.  He turned a corner

just as the officers ran out the front door and stopped short, looking

around in vain.

     As he walked, the Doctor noticed people around him were pointing at

the sky.  He looked.  A white streak of smoke cut across the sky.

     I may have taken a knock on the head, he thought, but I know well

enough that there were no jet airplanes in Victorian England, not even

for the Exhibition.  Therefore the smoke, which couldn't have some from a

smokestack, must be connected to the time-meddling assassins.  They were

still operating, but what was the plan now?  Where would they be headed?

Not Hyde Park, surely, as the Queen wouldn't be there anymore, and

anyway, the end of the smoke was snaking in the wrong direction.

     "Come on, come on!" he muttered in frustration.  "Where would they

go-- Westminster!  They were headed toward the seat of government!

     He took off at top speed down Newgate Street, hoping against hope

that he wouldn't be too late.

        *****

     The red-haired Doctor flew hundreds of feet above the London

skyline, trying his best not to look down  "Would you reconsider if I

told you I have a phobia about heights?" he asked into the helmet's radio.

     "No," growled the voice on the other end.  "Keep going-- you know

the consequence of failure."

     The suit itself was not much trouble, resembling many he had seen in

the future.  The controls, which were activated by eye movements, proved

a bit tricky at takeoff, but he soon got used to them.  He looked down on

the Strand, then magnified the image.  He could see numerous people

pointing up at him with astonished faces.

     "He flies through the air with the greatest of ease..." he sang,

purposely off-key.

     The radio came back to life.  "What are you doing up there?" the

Pretender yelled.

     The Doctor checked the internal clock.  Half an hour.  He wondered

how long he could keep it up.

     The answer appeared in red letters across the visor's field of

vision:  "PACK FUEL LOW."

     Not too much choice, then.  He turned himself around carefully and

headed toward Buckingham Palace.  The jet pack began to sputter as he

approached, and the red letters before him flashed "CRITICAL!"  He lost

altitude, dropping fast.  The palace gardens approached at a horrifying

rate.  Somehow he managed to bring the suit upright and landed with a

thud in front of an astonished group of guards.

     "I don't want to hurt you," he said, holding up his hands.  His

voice was amplified by a speaker in the helmet.  The guards, startled,

raised their guns in alarm  They rushed at him desperately.

     The Doctor cursed under his breath in High Gallifreyan.  Quickly he

set his weapon on the stun setting, aimed, and fired.  A flash of energy

dropped the guards as though they were puppets cut from their strings.

     He looked at the guards sadly, but the radio buzzed in his ear.

"Get moving!" the Pretender shouted.

     The Doctor felt fury rise within him, but saw no other choice.  He

trudged up the walkway into the Palace.

        *****

     "Why did he leave us down here?" Victoria asked.  She had managed to

find a rickety chair to sit down in.

     "Hmm?"  Lanthorne stuck his head out from beneath the time machine.

Wires and components were scattered on the floor around him.

     "Well, wasn't he upset that Inspector Stevenson put us down here in

the first place?"

     Lanthorne sighed.  "If I have to be honest, I think our would-be

king isn't quite as mentally agile as he used to be.  You saw him-- he

can barely think about one thing at a time, and right now he's more

concerned about getting the Doctor to the Palace."  He picked up a tangle

of wires and studied it.  "Now that's interesting."

     "What is?"

     "The Trans-Temporal Police was wondering why the Stuarts would

choose here for an attempt at the throne.  Turns out they had no choice.

The machine's omicron processor is burned out."

     "Omicron what?" Victoria asked.

     "An omicron processor," Lanthorne repeated.  "Essential for the

machine's functioning, and they don't know how to fix it.  The Stuarts

are like a Shakespearean tragedy, aren't they?"

     "Inspector, what is it you're doing?  Shouldn't we be trying to get

out of here?"

     "My dear, that is what I am attempting."  He crawled back under the

machine, and his voice became muffled as he continued.  "I learned the

fundamentals of these machines at the academy, so I'm hoping to discover

a way to rewire it to project myself upstairs."  He pulled himself out,

stood up, and dusted himself off.  "And I think I have it."  Victoria

watched as he pointed a dish antenna to an empty spot on the floor.

     "I want to go with you," she said.

     "I'm not sure if this is going to work," Lanthorne said, flipping a

few switches on a makeshift control panel.

     A hum of power began from within the machine.  He stepped over to

the antenna's focus.  As the power built up, a glow began to surround him

like a halo.

     "I will not be left here, locked up, while the Doctor, Jamie, my

Queen, and my country are in jeopardy!"  She ran at Lanthorne, wrapping

her arms around his waist.

     "Miss Waterfield, no!"  Lanthorne tried desperately to push her

away, but Victoria clung tighter.  The hum of power became a whine and

the glow intensified.  The last image Victoria saw before darkness

surrounded her was the control panel bursting into flames.

        *****

     The dark-haired Doctor was breathing heavily, his hearts pounding

furiously.  He had run several miles.  "I'm too old for this sort of

thing!" he gasped, but he kept running.  Dread drove him on.

     He followed the fast-fading smoke trail to Buckingham Palace.  There

a large crowd milled around in confusion.  As the Doctor stepped closer,

his suspicions were confirmed.  The people were grouped around guards

lying unconscious.  He slipped quietly past the people, through the open

gates, and into the Palace.

     A moment later, the Prince and Jamie came upon the scene.  "What

happened here?" Jamie asked as they ran past the crowd and the recovering

guards.

     "A diversion, I suppose."  The Prince sounded uncertain.  "It

doesn't matter.  We've got to get the Queen!"

        *****

     The red-haired Doctor could see a map of the Palace displayed in the

corner of the visor.  He came to a junction in the hallways.  The map

said to go right, the Doctor went left.

     "What are you doing?" asked the Pretender in his ear.  "Stop wasting

time!  Find the Queen!"

     The royal apartments flashed red on the map.

     The Doctor turned back and headed towards them.  He was relieved

that he had encountered few people on his way.  Several housemaids had

run in terror and he'd been forced to stun two guards, but otherwise

things were quiet.  Please let the Queen have been evacuated, he thought.

     Finally he reached the door of the royal sitting-room.  He winced as

he pulled it from its hinges.  He stepped inside to find Queen Victoria

and Prince Albert looking up from their breakfast.

     "What is the meaning of this?" Prince Albert demanded in his

cultured German accent.  He stood and reached for a derringer on a nearby

table.  The Queen looked on in fright, then regained her composure

quickly.  She placed herself just behind Albert, ready to stand by her

husband as they faced the monster.

     "I don't want to hurt you--" the Doctor began, but Prince Albert

fired.  The shot ricocheted off of the suit's metal.

     "Kill them!" the Pretender's voice bellowed.

     The Doctor felt his right arm rising jerkily, the weapon edging in

the Queen's direction.  A remote control!  He tried to force it back

down, straining every muscle.  The suit's motors began to grind with

similar strain.

     The corner screen in the visor showed a familiar figure coming from

the hallway behind him.  "Hurry, man!" he shouted, feeling the machine

gaining the advantage.  "Get me out of this thing!"

     The dark-haired Doctor darted in front of him, then stopped short at

the sight of Prince Albert's pistol.  "I'm unarmed, and I'm here to

help!" he said quickly, holding up his hands.  The Queen looked

uncertain.  "This is no time for mistrust, your majesty!" he added.  He

felt relieved when she nodded and gently pressed her husband's gun down.

     Then he felt cold steel at his temple.  "Don't move!"

     He turned to the bearded man who held the gun.  Jamie stood behind

him, holding another gun.  "Jamie!" he cried in delight.  "How good to

see you!"  The Highlander remained silent, and the Doctor recognized the

bearded man.  "Oh my giddy aunt!"

     "Kill them, Jamie lad!"  Keeping his gun on the Doctor, Bonnie

Prince Charlie pointed at the Queen and Prince Albert.  "Remember Culloden!"

     "Jamie, don't listen to him!" the Doctor implored.

     "But he's my king, Doctor!"  Jamie looked from the Doctor, to Bonnie

Prince Charlie, to Queen Victoria.  His face was awash with distress and

confusion.

     "But this isn't Culloden!" the dark-haired Doctor cried.  "Kill them

and you change the course of history!  Think of Ben and Polly-- their

queen is this woman's great-granddaughter!  Think of Victoria-- this

woman is her queen!"

     "Enough!" roared Bonnie Prince Charlie.  He turned his gun on Queen

Victoria.  His finger tightened on the trigger.

     "No!"  Jamie leapt at him and knocked him off of his feet.  The

Young Pretender looked up, stunned, to see the Highlander nervously

pointing his own gun at him.

     "A little help would be appreciated!" came the voice over the suit's

amplifier.

     The Doctor refocused his attention on his older self in the battle

suit.  The arm was moving wildly now, unable to hold any steady

position.  The energy weapon fired at the ceiling, causing plaster to

rain down on them.

     "I would if you'd just keep still!" exclaimed the dark-haired

Doctor.  The right arm knocked him to the floor.

     From underneath he spotted part of a thick cable going from the body

to the arm of the suit.  His hand darted into his pocket and yanked out

the sonic screwdriver.  Quickly adjusting the settings, he reached up and

turned it on.  There was a spark as the wire was cut in half.  The

mechanized arm dropped and remained still.

     "Bravo!" the dark-haired Doctor exclaimed.

     "Not yet," the older Doctor replied.  In his ear he heard the Old

Pretender's menacing threat:  "You fools!  Now the House of Commons is

finished!"

        *****

     In front of the array of controls and monitors, the Old Pretender's

finger hovered above the switch that would activate the bomb in

Parliament.  A sudden noise from a nearby closet made him look up.  He

was amazed to see the door burst open and his two prisoners rush out.

"But how--"

     Before he could react, Lanthorne and Victoria tackled him from his

chair, pinning him to the floor.  He struggled, then stopped when he saw

Victoria holding his futuristic gun.

     "I don't know how to use this," she said nervously, "so don't move."

     The Old Pretender lay back and closed his eyes in sorrow.  "It is

over.  The fighting ends."



     Lanthorne glared at Victoria.  The woman smiled at him shyly.  "The

time machine worked, didn't it?" she asked, and he couldn't help grinning

as well.

     Lanthorne leaned over the controls and found the radio to the suit's

helmet.  "All clear on this end, Doctor."

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